I Like Your Boobs

Caution to the kids:  This could get graphic. You might not want to read it.

Lately, during our late-night discussion of how long we've been married, how many kids we have, what they're all up to, etc., my husband has been giving me "the look." The amorous one. He might not be too sure who I am all the time, but he thinks I'm hot. And he wants to be with me in the biblical sense. (Kids, if you're still reading, it's on you.)

As his filters are coming down, he's becoming much more direct about his feelings for me. He tells me he loves me, and he makes no bones about admiring my anatomy. He's the hormone-driven guy with the fast car your mother warned you about. (How am I doing, kids? Are you embarrassed yet?)

Well, okay, that might have been a mild exaggeration. It would be more accurate to say that this new openness in communication has been a long time coming and is kind of a pleasant surprise, even if he might not remember that it happened.

"Later" (euphemism for the sake of the kids), the other night, I put my head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and asked me if I was happy. I told him I wish it had always been like this. He looked at me with puppy dog eyes, smiled gently, and said sweetly, in his very best "I'm trying not to appear weird" voice:

"And you are...?"

Okie dokie.